


Just once

by TheStarsHaveAligned



Category: Hakuouki
Genre: F/M, and the usual saito stuff, fic for a prompt, just once, newborn repressed feelings, times changing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 19:58:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4718627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStarsHaveAligned/pseuds/TheStarsHaveAligned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You need to focus; love is dangerous.</p><p>But you could get used to this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just once

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Findarato](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Findarato/gifts).



Claim the Earth moves around the Sun, and the Moon around the Earth; claim waters evaporate from the salty sea and sweet rain falls; claim a second is all it takes for a person to die, their eyes still open and brain suddenly disconnected, a death so quick it’s almost merciful. Claim all you know, all you thought absolute truths. Claim all and despite that, this small true fact remains incomprehensible.

You’ve fallen in love.

And it happened and it was not overnight; there is no way to deny this is affection and even something beyond bonding and caring for a fellow comrade or friend. No, this is love, so called love, feared and supposedly blessed loved, and everything should be falling in its right place and probably, according to books you’ve read -and according to things you’ve heard, love should be a wonderful sentiment.

But the time is war, and war times call for tragedies, and tragedies dictate short lived romances. Intense but short. Nothing of this should be worrying you at the moment, but it does. I does because times are changing so quick, and everything is changing with them; you can only wish and pray comradeship doesn’t fall too victim of these changing times. You can only pray yet another totem does not fall to these times.

And as your mind roams, you try your best to step at the same pace as these times, match the speed, blend and keep being useful, effective, and at the appointed time give some purpose to your death. The path the Shinsengumi is following is the only path they can, running on the same rails you chose to follow; to be derailed would mean losing everything- you can’t allow the shinsegumi to derail.

A sudden noise alerts you of proximity, and the pace of steps makes Hijikata san recognizable; hurried, strong, not nervous, but pressing with slightly more strength than he should his heels as he walks. Lately he had been walking around more than usual, stopping his steps just as he got to a point and then resuming again in the opposite direction -not a change of mind, but maybe a way to match his own thoughts with his body, to roam at the same speed and follow the same direction his mind does-,  and the noise of his heels on the wood floor reminds you of a carpenter working the girders on a house.

It’s probably the time. You open the door to meet a slightly surprised -or not surprised anymore- Hijikata san, and both of you walk towards the meeting room. Everybody should be assembled there already, and you try not to let that eat at you; you are no man to be late, but these are special circumstances. Special and uncomfortable and _tight._

These western clothes are without doubt the most reasonable option, but they are also without a doubt, the most troublesome garment you’ve ever worn. There are layers and layers of seemingly useless things, and they all are almost skin tight. You have tried several iai katas before coming out of your room, in absurd fear the clothes might rip with a movement as you wield your sword.

These too may take time to get used to it.

Eyes move to you in curiosity as Hijikata san opens the door of the room, and some sigh in relief you’ve dressed as them -doubts about whom would disagree with Kondo san’s decision are still fresh, and your eyes don’t travel twice towards Shinpachi, who is seemingly as uncomfortable as you are, though probably for many more reasons.

Strangely though, the more you look at these clothes on them and on you, the less _foreign_ they look, or feel. It may be a mutual acceptation, both of the group and of your body, to these times. It may also be because Hijikata san wears them as if they were his usual clothes, and moves as if he hadn’t realized his whole attire has changed. Hair included.

Ah that’s right. The movement to brush your hair over your shoulder will also be unnecessary from now on. Western clothes don’t match long hair. It’s not that it made a great difference to you, but you are sure you saw Heisuke forlornly look at his ponytail just as it was cut. It was worse for ones than others.

Your mind travels briefly, for a second, to the same spot your eyes have involuntary traveled to, almost used to, looking for that person who is not here anymore.

You also wonder how much he would be complaining at this choice, never mind it was Kondo san’s. And how much it would annoy Hijikata san in the process, probably the ultimate objective of his comments. You are strangely sure Hijikata’s composure is reinforced because _he_ is not here to make any sarcastic comments on him.

That also may take time to get used to.

And then your eyes naturally lay on a petite figure, not really apart from the group, but comfortably standing out of place between all this changes, being a reassuring still point between this tidal waves of change.

Of course she would not wear western uniform; she was not a soldier after all, so she needn’t. And yet this slightly out of place picture of soft rosy color and long ponitailed hair is the pinpoint axis of the room. It should be Hijikata san, and you shift you attention to him again, quickly, and with an odd feeling of suddenness unnaturality.

It’s because your eyes have met, and because she was smiling at you.

You depart towards the appointed place, some long faces, some strained expressions and set jaws, prepared to meet with the enemy, prepared to fight battles in a way you’ve never before. There is no thrill, and you are strangely sure you know that also is because he is not here. And as you arrive, orders and places are given, and you can’t help but steal a glance at Hijikata san and his squared shoulders, not stiff but on guard. Hijikata san lives on permanent guard, and there is this feeling of comradeship where you wish there was someone capable to relieve your fukuchou for a moment of his heavy weight and make him drop his shield.

Just as she is cracking yours. Slowly, thoroughly, and perseveringly.

And you are thankful she is not sneaky or in the roundabouts when she approaches you, but direct and fearless, and _close_. This is how the bond has grown between you two, how the trust has made its place in both hearts and you know her eyes can’t lie for the life of her, and that she feels comfortable around you. And also curious, and what is that, _concern_?

“Ah, Saito san… there is something… can I talk to you for a moment?”

Maybe it’s because she’s already tasting the battle, feeling the tension in the air from foot soldiers around, but you see some uncertainty on her, and you don’t like it. You were never taught how to be reassuring in any way, and you can’t offer much beyond honesty, but as that didn’t seem to be a problem before you decide to answer in the same way you’ve always done.

“Speak Yukimura san; what is concerning you?”

You see her eyes open wide for a moment and you chasticise yourself for saying out loud that; maybe her concern was _not concerning_ the rest, in which case you just under covered her and-

“As always Saito san is very observant.”

But she is not bothered in the sightless and you inwardly sigh in relief. This pause is for her to acknowledge you acknowledging that, as it seems both of you speak more in silences and looks than with proper words. And yet as she starts speaking again, you see her uncharacteristically fidgety.

“I am sorry, but it seems this is not, um…”

Too many pauses and it starts to concern you again; is this maybe something she needs more privacy to discuss- is she maybe concerned again with your bloodlust?

That would be the last thing she should be concerned with, and you’d need to be extra reassuringly to her that you are fine and _in a way_ you are; there is no thirst nor prospect in sight of you losing control over that. So you urge her with your eyes to say what she is reluctant to, and it seems she understands as she suddenly changes her body language and directly looks at you.

“Well it seems as if _that_ is not correctly buttoned.”

There is a pause again, a silence, and it takes a second for your eyes to follow hers towards your attire. Towards these things called buttons and the buttonholes and-

It seems even though you avoided being hasty, you have buttoned wrongly your jacket.

Some silences are definitely uncomfortable and you know there is this awkward tension because you haven’t answered and she is still staring at you. In this silent conversation, it’s you the one completely silent. That is no good.

“If you don’t mind, I could-”

“No-” You cut her quickly, just downing on intentions and trying to drown this strange feeling. “- there is no need, I can manage on my own.”

The thing is that you can’t just say no to her and she knows.

“Let me help you.”

And she is earnest. All of her. It’s such a simple thing, but you know she’d help you and has already, with tasks much more difficult and has never complained nor offered herself halfheartedly. She is not mocking or pitying you. And this is just a jacket. And yet.

“Just once.”

You answer reluctantly, and it’s not pride talking, or some kind of shame stopping you. It’s something deeper, a rumble or a cold sweat or a strange coiling feeling in your guts.

 _Just once_ , you say, least your mind wanders, far, further away from where it should, away from the imminent carnage and desolation, away from heavy and dark premonitions, away from red blood seeking eyes. Away and towards slender and delicate, gentle fingers, dexterous and quick, to a veiled hope.

Even with all the layers you feel she is too close. And probably because of the layers, you feel too hot.

You wanted to avoid any small task or familiarity, anything that could make you miss a life of peace and make your mind travel to a future where there is no strain to survive and just happiness. Because love does this, and fills you mind with hopes when it should be set on survival and fighting mode. Because every time Chizuru takes that step towards you, you realize things have really changed in you and you cannot answer like before, and maybe you fake well, and maybe she is naive, but you don’t know how much longer you’d be able to control this, if the growth is exponential. Love is a kind of bloodlust, but you don’t think you should fight it, just…

She finishes buttoning your jacket, and looks at you in a mildly satisfied way, brown eyes sparkling and pink lips framing a smile, before bowing to you and turning around, and then you are aware she probably uttered some sentence, but you did not listen, and she did not tell.

You need to focus; love is dangerous.

But you could get used to this.

**Author's Note:**

> fic for Cal, who gave me the prompt "Just Once" ;3


End file.
